


Mothering Day

by lunarlychallenged



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, I know that the UK doesn't do Mother's Day type stuff at the same time, Mother's Day, for the Weasley Protection Squad, so I'm following their timeline, you feel?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 14:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14620650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarlychallenged/pseuds/lunarlychallenged
Summary: A look into an average Mothering Day for Molly Weasley.  (It'll be Mother's Day on Sunday in America.  Don't forget.  Buy your mom some flowers or something.)





	Mothering Day

“Mum! Ron drank all of the milk!”

“Fred, I swear on Merlin’s unmentionables, if you eat the last bit of toast, I’ll cut all of the bristles off of your broom.”

“Gin, I know that Mum said you could play Quidditch with us today, but I really don’t think you should come. I saw something that looked like an elf outside your window last night -”

“Oh, Errol, no - not in the bacon, Errol, please. What a rotten owl.”

Molly sighed, allowing herself a few seconds to close her eyes and remember the quiet mornings she and Arthur had when they were first married. Quiet mornings, when they could sleep in without being woken by screaming or the smell of smoke. Peaceful breakfasts, where the only sound was of the turning of pages and the clang of a fork bumping a plate.

She should have felt lucky; she was running out of children to spend Mothering Day with. Fred and George would leave for Hogwarts, like the older boys, and then she would only have her two youngest to celebrate with. She should have been reveling in the company, but she could already feel how long the day was going to be. 

“I did not drink all of the milk! I haven’t even had any yet, see? Look at my cup -”

“George? What did you see outside my window? Why can’t I play Quidditch?”

Arthur swept in, ignoring the yelling children in favor of pressing a kiss into Molly’s hair. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Morning, love.”

She waited for a moment, drooping when she realized that he had forgotten, too. It wasn’t a big day, really, but she had been expecting flowers, of candy, or at least an offer to do the dishes. She made a mental note to lower her already minimal standards.

“I can’t be totally sure, but I think it was an Erkling. You probably shouldn’t leave the house after what happened to Louis.”

The din of the children died down at George’s words, the air filling with amusement and confusion.

Ginny - dear, sweet Ginny - frowned. She was delighted to have her brothers home for the day, but Molly suspected that Ginny would have to put up with more torture than usual. “Who’s Louis?”

Fred and George grinned, and though Arthur’s head was behind a paper, Molly could feel the delight rolling off him in waves.

“Haven’t Mum and Dad told you?” George leaned in close to the seven year old, the picture of conspiratory. “Louis was born between Bill and Charlie.”

Ginny’s eyes went round. “No, there’s nobody between Bill and Charlie.”

“Not anymore,” he said gravely. “Louis went outside one day, before you were born. He heard a sound out in the forest - kind of a cackling? Remember, like that one out by the pond?”

Her eyes grew wider by the second, especially when she saw Fred and Ron nodding. “I think so, maybe.”

“Well, it was an Erkling. He followed it out into the woods, far away from the house and it - no, I shouldn’t say.”

“What happened?”

“It ate him,” the three boys chorused.

“That’s enough,” Molly erupted. She shook her dishcloth at George when Ginny dropped her fork on the floor. “That’s quite enough from you. If you want to spread that kind of hogwash, you can go sit with the pigs.”

“It’s not true, is it, Mum?”

Molly paused. For just a moment, she wanted to play along. She wanted to speak like she would have when she was younger. Well, Ginny, I’m not saying that we didn’t have another son -

Arthur lowered the paper, eyebrows raised and lips curling. She sighed. “No, Ginny, it isn’t true. Ignore them. Play Quidditch if you want to.”

Fred, George, and Ron grumbled through mouthfuls of egg, but they didn’t argue.

Molly waived them away, eager for a few minutes of quiet with her husband. “Get on with it. Be done by lunch, you understand? I’m making a ham.”

One by one, the kids darted out the front door, but Ginny turned back. She ran up to to Molly, pressed a quick kiss into her cheek, and grinned. Ginny’s small arms couldn’t fit all the way around Molly’s waist, but she still squeezed as hard as she could.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” She ran after her brothers, calling that they couldn’t start without her.

Arthur finally put his paper down on the table. “You didn’t think we forgot, did you?”

“Of course not,” she snorted. “You lot have never forgotten big events.”

“Certainly not,” he said uneasily.

“Like my birthday,” she said.

“It was one time -”

“Or our anniversary.”

He sighed, ears a little red. “Well, maybe one time per event, then.”

She grinned and squeezed his hand while she walked past him to grab some abandoned plates. “But you remembered this time ‘round.”

“It is Easter, though, so they hid your present.”

She laughed, and it bubbled into a cackle when he continued.

“Under our bed, of course. While I was sleeping, predictably.”

“Naturally,” she agreed. She grinned, looking out at her children. They were horrid little beasts, but they were her horrid little beasts, and that was more than good enough for her.


End file.
